


A Million on My Soul

by nyatsushi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Sad Keith (Voltron), Sad Lotor (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyatsushi/pseuds/nyatsushi
Summary: Lotor has many strengths as he does weaknesses, but he never thought he'd share so many with a single person: a Paladin, a Blade, a small half-Galra by the name of Keith.





	1. Lotor

The metal ring clamps shut with a dissonant clang, a sharp pain ripping through Lotor’s arm. He bites his tongue and endures it. He can’t show weakness in front of the Paladins or the Coalition. If these were their terms then he would accept them. Being monitored was a small price to pay for his plans. He would be more concerned if there were no precautions set in place. Perhaps it would keep him more honest, or at the very least test his ability to tell a convincing lie. He frowns, rubbing the exposed skin on the sides of the bracelet.

“Have you ever tested this on a live subject before?” he raises toward the green paladin.

There is a deep intelligence behind her steady, golden gaze. “You’re the very first. Feel honored,” she says. Lotor’s fingers twitch.  
  
The Altean princess steps forward gracefully and supports her weight on the raised war table before them. “Pidge, explain how exactly this works again,” she speaks in a hushed tone, fatigue apparent. None of them had respite since the events of Naxzela mere hours before, emotional and physical exhaustion hanging over their heads like a reaper ready to collect souls.

The green paladin steps forward and speaks louder for the Blade and Coalition leaders in the room standing away from the table. “Well, BLIP tech is used to detect vital signs in our paladin armor along with relaying our location to the castle. So it wasn’t that difficult to adjust the tech so that it was more portable, but Matt and I,” she pauses to look at a man with similar features standing a few feet away, “were able to engineer it so it’s able to read galran biology with a little help from Kolivan.”

Allura rests a hand on her chin in thought. “So it’ll tell us where Lotor is if he tries to escape and, what, exactly?”  
  
“We’ll be able to tell if he’s lying based on heart rate and chemical reactions. But it might be a learning curve since we don’t know exactly what equates for dopamine or adrenaline in Galra,” the larger one, Matt, adds.

The blue paladin suddenly smacks a hand on the table, startling everyone other than the large Blade in the corner. “So what you’re saying is that you built a fancy lie detector?”  
  
The green paladin groans, “ _Lance,_ why d’you have to put it like that?”  
  
Lance squints, “well, _is it?”_

“...I guess you could say that, yes.”  
  
Lotor flexes his hand, pain rippling through it. “Is the pain temporary?” he asks in a voice much quieter than he meant. He glances over at the green paladin, waiting for an answer.  
  
“Your body will get used it, it’s just because it entered through the muscle,” there’s a cold edge to her words and Lotor wonders for a moment if she purposefully made it to be painful. “Oh! And if you misbehave, I can send an electrical current through it. It won’t stop you, but it _will_ hurt like a bitch.”

 _Definitely_ meant it to be painful.

Lotor narrows his eyes at this information, wondering if these negotiations were worth the hassle, but the idea of being thrown to the mercy of his father makes him swallow back any sarcastic remarks. These are the only possible allies he has left.

From the corner of his vision he spots the movement of a small Blade, mask on, skirting the sides of the room but attention fully on him. Like stalking prey. Lotor keeps his face impassive, or as expressionless as he can manage with a dislocated shoulder and now damaged wrist. He watches carefully as the Blade goes to stand beside the larger one, only then revealing just how diminutive in size they are. The black paladin catches his gaze, following it to the now still figure.

“Now that we have some security with Lotor, I think it’s safe to dismiss everyone for the night. We’re all exhausted and can focus more on negotiations tomorrow.” Most of the room collectively sighs in relief. The black paladin clears his throat before looking in the direction of the small Blade. “Keith! I need to speak with you. But first, take Lotor to his quarters,” Lotor is graced with an icy glare, “and lock his door from the outside when you’re done.”  
  
He unfolds his arms in finality and begins to move towards the door, a steady dismissal flowing through the room at the action. And ever so suddenly, everyone loses their tough fronts at the promise of sleep and recovery.

The little Blade, Keith, stops in front of Lotor, his mask still on. There’s a small head tilt, a sign to follow, but no words are spoken. Lotor closes his eyes, taking in a long breath before falling in step behind the other.

As they stray further away from the main part of the castle, Lotor has half a mind to believe this Keith will attempt to kill him. He runs through scenarios in his head, trying to find a solution if he must fight while considerably handicapped. As he settles on a plan of action, the pair stops in front of a door. Keith swipes some sort of ID chip connected to his suit, authorizing the door to open and wordlessly steps aside so Lotor can enter.

He begins to walk into the room but turns when he’s in front of the Blade. “Why have you not removed your mask?” Lotor prods quietly. “Are you afraid of what will show if you reveal yourself?”

The empty glowing eyes of the Marmora mask rise to meet his gaze. A heartbeat later, a hand follows to click something by his ear, the mask disintegrating into light before dispersing completely. Keith doesn’t look Galra at first glance, but Lotor knows better. Being Galra is bone deep, the way you carry yourself, the way you think, the way you fight and love and _feel_. It is those exact instincts and bloodline that allows one to become a Blade of Marmora. Before him is a half Galra: shaken and alone, unable to process the raw conviction he had during his moments of imminent death, and deep, sorrowful regret as obvious as blue starlight.

He’s met with a glassy stare, but one with a storm of emotions he can’t begin to decipher. The deep indigo draws him in, and he knows he could easily get lost if he let himself. He knows because it is himself who looks back. A ghost of his former self whispering to him through the boy before him. Anger, sadness, confusion, mangled vines of emotions rooted far within. He sees himself in Keith, knows his heart has a weakness for lost little half-breeds like himself.

 _He turns slowly around as Acxa calls to him, only to be met with the the blooming pain of being shot. The betrayal of his generals, his closest friends, his family. Death would have been kinder._ Keith is him, and he is Keith. So he looks away, unable to bear the heavy gaze burning into him.

“You’re the pilot…” he starts gently and doesn’t dare finish. _The pilot who almost killed himself. Who almost pointlessly died, whether for heroics or out of desperation. The pilot I saved by intervening mere seconds before death._

This seems to take Keith by surprise. “How did you...?” the voice is equally quiet, but wavers slightly. He’s still shaken from his actions only hours ago. Lotor can intuit by the dissociated reactions Keith gives that no one has addressed his actions nor comforted him.

Victory or death. Knowledge or death. Means justify the ends. Lotor is certain it’s written into their genetic code at this point and not just a toxic, imperialistic mentality. Pursuing their goals with reckless abandon. Pointless carnage and sacrifice and _death_.

Lotor chances a look once more into the abyss of emotion. He doesn’t know what brings him to say it, only that it invokes a reaction he’ll not forget. A sharp intake of breath, fists clenched and completely frozen at the statement, Keith stands prone.

“Because, little Blade, you and I are more alike than you know.”


	2. Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of chapter 1, from Keith’s perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate me. It’ll get happier soon, I promise. Also I wrote this in google docs on my phone so I’ll go back soon when I have my laptop and fix any weird mistakes bc sometimes autocorrect is stupid and changes words that exist that I spell correctly into other words. Sorry for a million commas btw. Idk what grammar is.
> 
> Trigger warning jic: non-explicit description of medical injury.

The red glow of the fighter console floods Keith’s senses as he lands the ship gently in the hanger bay of the castle. His trembling hand finds its way to his chest, clenching the fabric of his suit with hope that it’ll ground him to reality. The thrum, thrum, thrumming of his heart so fast and the rushing of blood so violent he feels like he could burst. Like he’s breathing too rapidly but can’t get enough air. He glances up at his reflection in the glass of the ship as the red light fades into the colour of glowing coals, darkness swallowing it slowly.

His pupils are dilated, bangs glued to his forehead with sweat and face drained of all colour as he gasps for air. He can’t bear to look at this person staring back at him. Dizziness swarms him suddenly and he rests his head on the dashboard with a soft thud, closing his eyes. _In and out, in and out._

The hatch opens, metal scraping fills the silent cockpit and Kolivan stands waiting at the entrance.

“Keith,” he calls.

Keith slowly turns around so he can address his leader, his teacher. He can see it in the other’s eyes that he’s a pitiful display and so he closes his own, slowing his breathing as he empties his mind.

“Get yourself cleaned up before the paladins land. Then join us in the meeting room.”

The paladins. As in, he was not one. His jaw clenches as he pushes the thought away. He needs to clean up, to look less pitiful, to escape the lectures of Shiro and the rest.

And so he does. Focusing only on walking, breathing, shoving down his emotions as deep within him as he can. He can address them later. When he’s alone. When there’s no emergency of immediate importance.

The communal shower room is empty and pristine. His clothes fall away at some point but he can’t remember removing them. Muscle memory takes over as he enters a stall. He stands under the spray of the shower, counting the tiles. Maybe he could reach out to Shiro. Or Lance…

_As he enters the room, exhaustion apparent, he’s met with cold glares. Panic swirls beneath his skin, heart squeezing; instincts telling him to run, to fly away again and thrust himself into peril to forget how inadequate he feels._

...the sting of their glares resurfaces and he rests his head against the cool tile as the water burns his shoulder, pelting his bare skin with intense heat. He needs to be cleansed. He needs to run away, or fight or cry. His body involuntary chooses the latter, emotional turmoil boiling over.

Keith slides down the wall and curls in on himself under the stream as he breaks into quiet sobs. He almost killed himself for a family who looked at him so critically, regardless of their support after he informed them of his mission with Marmora. They had Shiro. They didn’t need him. He was a nuisance.

His nails scraping the skin of his arms brings himself back, the ache grounding him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. And so he reluctantly stands, feeling slightly better after crying.

He dresses slowly, dreading when he’ll see everyone. The artificial sun of the overhead lights make his pale skin glow unnaturally. His hand rises to his neck, pressing down and his mask materializes. The mask helps him hide, lets him forget who he is, what he’s endured. With the mask he is no longer Keith, he’s another Blade on a utilitarian mission. It gives him the courage to forget his woes and walk down the halls to the meeting about Lotor.

He enters silently, spotting Kolivan in the corner of the room. The others are speaking but he hears no words. Everything sounds underwater as he spots the Galran prince. He’s tall, long silver hair gently draped over his back.

Sizing him up, Lotor does not raise his right arm at all, keeping it firmly planted to his side. He winces internally as he recalls one particular incident in the Garrison during a fight with another classmate much larger than himself. They instigated and provoked, but he swung first. The sickening noise of his shoulder sliding out of place as the other boy slammed him into the concrete floor of the indoor courtyard. The scream of agony forced from his own mouth before he blacked out only to wake up in the Nurse’s office a day later in intense pain is forever burned into his memories.

Lotor’s gaze flicks to him, regarding him a moment as he continues to quietly stalk over to Kolivan’s side. It’s calculating, but not cold. If Keith didn’t know better he would say Lotor was not as manipulative or malevolent as he first thought.

The few seconds under the prince’s scrutinizing state feel like minutes. This was the man he was so intent on killing because he was so scared of the unknown. An enemy of moral ambiguity, operating separate of the Empire, _toying_ with them. Keith swallows as his thoughts are halted by Shiro. He doesn’t catch most of it - mind still jumbled with a million thoughts and emotions - only that he’ll need to escort Lotor to his quarters.

The prince stays where he is, so he turns and waits, nodding for him to follow. Maybe he won’t recognize him if he keeps the mask on. Maybe he’ll pass as just another Blade.

Now, in the empty back halls of the castle, would be the perfect time to strike, to kill the enemy. Lotor is injured enough that he could do it, and unarmed. There was a fighting chance he could win.

Keith glances back over his shoulder at the other who seems to be lost in thought, brow corrugated. Whether it is from thought or pain, he can’t tell. Only that he realizes just how prostrated he looks. There’s a sadness in his eyes he understands intimately.

Rejection.

Keith swallows as they reach the door and he swiftly unlocks it, stepping aside. He closes his eyes, safe from being given away by the mask. Under there he is allowed to feel. Soft footsteps grace the silent hallway, and then: a pause.

“Why have you not removed your mask?” Lotor prods quietly. “Are you afraid of what will show if you reveal yourself?”

He opens his eyes, looking up to observe the other carefully. He forces his hand to stop trembling as he slides it over the mask activation, immediately dissolving it into light.

“You’re the pilot…” the voice is quiet but clear as day. A statement, not a question.

Keith stiffens. He can’t catch the words before they tumble out, “How did you...?”

There’s a softness in Lotor’s gaze. It’s something he never thought he would witness from a galra, let alone Lotor himself. It’s too human. It’s too human and he sees himself in those weary eyes and it terrifies him. He should kill him. This was an enemy, perhaps the downfall to their entire operation if they’re betrayed. His knife weighs heavy at his side. It would be so easy, while he’s caught off guard.

But he can’t bring himself to do it.

He studies the softness, the vulnerability in the expression extended to him. For someone he assumed so brutal, so deceitful, Lotor is...different. Different than he expected; more feeling, like he must fight his nature to keep up the ruthless front. It hits Keith then, an epiphany that chills him to the bone and restrains him. An epiphany so terrifying he can only dig his nails into his palms to ground himself. And he knows in that moment that Lotor senses it too.

“Because, little Blade, you and I are more alike than you know.”

Lotor steps forward silently into the room. The door slides shut in finality.

And all Keith can do is wander down the hall, hand over his mouth, and choke back a broken sob.

 


End file.
